It’s not just inside the Enid A. Haupt Conservatory where the preparations for Monet’s Garden are taking place. Behind the landmark building, in the Courtyard Pools, the Garden’s horticulture staff are preparing the stars of the show; water lilies, including some varieties that Monet grew at Giverny.
How does that adage go? Would you rather be a big duck in a little pond, or a little duck in a big pond? Clearly, this lady mallard–who looks right at home in the Home Gardening Center‘s rather small pond–has made up her mind.
Paeonia lactiflora 'Kevin' (photo by Ivo M. Vermeulen)
With apologies to T.S. Eliot:
The naming of plants is a curious matter;
It isn’t just one of those science-y things.
You may find me as mad as a rosy pink madder
When I tell you a plant must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First is the name of the plant’s closest family
Such as Viburnum or Lilium, Paeonia or Oxalis–
All of them sensible, Latinate names.
There are names that are fancier, if you think they sound geekier,
Some are for flowers, others for trees:
Such asĀ or Eschscholzia or Hesperantha, Metasequoia or Crassulaceae–
But all of them sensible, Latinate names.
But I tell you a plant needs a name that’s unique,
A name that’s precise, and more descriptive,
Else how can a scientist keep her croci in a row,
Or catalog her samples, or publish her findings?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a few
Such as odoratum, elegans, or subedentata,
Such as lactiflora, stellata, or else cotyledon–
Names that along with the first never belong to more than one plant.
But above and beyond there’s still one name to go,
And that is a name that you may know best;
It is a name that only a human can bestow–
The reason behind it ONLY THE HUMAN CAN KNOW, and will never confess.
When you notice a plant in profound meditation,
The reason I tell you is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought of why did this human give me this
Ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.
The concept of a rock garden sounds amazingly dull, like it would be a garden full of well … rocks. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. Plants are imminently adaptable, and those that adapt to the arid, hardscrabble life of grappling for nutrients in a barren biome tend to be, well, really cool. Need proof? Just check out the fractal fabulousness of these Hens and Chicks in the Garden’s WPA-era Rock Garden.
Remnants of last week’s constant, soaking downpour. It’s so seldom we appreciate the sculpting of a tree trunk under the marquee of leaves and flowers.
Carpinus betulus ‘Fastigiata’ — Photo by Ivo M. Vermeulen